


First, Catch Your Hellhound

by Snowfilly1



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A big spooky fanzine, Aziraphale to the Rescue (Good Omens), Hellhounds, Humor, Inspired by folklore, M/M, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowfilly1/pseuds/Snowfilly1
Summary: 'Uhhh. Aziraphale, I need your help. There's a Hellhound.''A Hellhound?''Yes! Big, slobbery, toothy thing. Angry. And it's not meant to be up here, I need to get it back Down Below before anyone else notices it missing.'Or, one of Crowley's plans goes astray yet again.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47





	First, Catch Your Hellhound

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for, and published in, A Big Spooky Fanzine 2020

'Aziraphale, I need your help.' 

Crowley frowns, tries to pace without leaving the shelter of the building he's currently sheltering behind, and tries again. 'Aziraphale, I have a small problem. Could you...'

'Angel, I understand this is somewhat beyond the terms of the Arrangement but...'

None of them sound quite right, and none of them are going to leave much of his dignity intact. A woman leaves the telephone box and heads back towards the village, glancing curiously at him. 

Bless it, he's got no excuse now. He hurries into the phone box and dials the London code before he has a chance to think. 

'We are quite closed, thank you,' comes Aziraphale's clipped response, before Crowley can even open his mouth. 'My opening hours are very clear, and I would thank you to stop calling me outside of them.'

'Angel.'

'Oh! Crowley, dear boy. Is everything alright?'

Crowley glances out through the rain streaked glass and listens with all his senses. (Thirty years later, he'll have a very strong feeling of deju vu watching a film with a T Rex rampaging towards a Jeep.) He can hear it.

'Uhhh. Aziraphale, I need your help. There's a Hellhound.'

There's a long silence. Crowley can hear paws hitting the earth, thundering on a slightly different pane of existence. It makes his bones itch, knowing it's so close.

'A Hellhound?'

'Yes! Big, slobbery, toothy thing. Angry. And it's not meant to be up here, I need to get it back Down Below before anyone else notices it missing.'

He can hear Aziraphale's patient / long suffering look, despite being a few hundred miles away. 'Where are you?'

He fills the angel in as best as he can, and stays sheltering in the phone box until he feels the change of air pressure that signifies an angelic miracle. Aziraphale folds time and space around himself; appears next to Crowley in a flurry of soft white light and muttering about the rain. 

Crowley finds himself wearing a coat before Aziraphale's spoken to him. 

'Are you hurt?' He feels the weight of Aziraphale's gaze dragging over him. 

'Good to see you too,' he replies. 'I'm fine, angel. I can't get near the thing, it certainly hasn't hurt me.'

He gets a frown in response. 'If you're sure. It isn't like you to call for help, that's all.'

He doesn't have a response to that aside from admitting he was right, so he settles for pulling the miracled up jacket tighter around himself and leaning back against the wall. Aziraphale comes and stands alongside him, fussing with his bowtie. 

'What's going on?'

Crowley considers lying. He considers begging Aziraphale not to repeat anything he's about to say - although who would the angel tell? In the end, he settles for staring at his shoes and muttering. His hair is just long enough at the moment to fall around his face and that and the rain puts up just enough of a barrier between them that he can talk. 

'I borrowed a Hellhound for a spot of freelance type stuff. You're meant to have a pass and everything, they're valuable, you know? Only get given out to people with the right authority.'

Aziraphale is nodding. Crowley can't see him but he knows he's nodding. Probably thinking 'people like you then, Crowley.' If, of course, the angel actually thinks of him as a person which he's never quite wanted to put to the test.

'Anyway, I borrowed one and it... turns out Hellhounds aren't actually very well trained, and I...it might sort of be loose now and I can't exactly get it back.'

'Why not?'

Aziraphale's stifling laughter. He'd bet on it.

'It's kind of...gone into a church. And I can't get in there and get it out.' He waves vaguely down at his feet. 'Not trying that one again. But it won't come when I call it.'

There is laughter now, and even when it's at his expense, he loves hearing Aziraphale laugh. 

'So, you need me to be a dog catcher?'

'Basically, yes. Bit more brimstone involved than normal, I'm afraid.'

'You'll owe me dinner,' Aziraphale replies, and his voice is full of amusement. 'Twice.'

He can't actually find much to argue about with that, so he just nods. 'We'd best do this before dark, if you don't mind. They get a bit more feral than usual after sundown.'

It's a blessedly short walk to the church. Crowley hunches his shoulders against the rain, glares at the angel when he suggests an umbrella might have been a good idea ('Really, Aziraphale, you haven't lectured me about the Hellhound but you're going on about this again?' 'Yes, because you get grumpy when you're cold, and then I have to deal with it.') and listens very hard for anything that sounds like a rampaging Hellhound. 

He gives up on that after the second clash of wind whipped trees makes him jump and knock into Aziraphale. 

'Honestly, dear, there's no need to be nervous. I am quite capable of dealing with a Hellhound.'

'Oh?'

'Well, we do have Heavenhounds, you know. Ghastly things. Gabriel likes them. I don't imagine yours are very different. And I have miracled some sausages for it, I'm sure that will help.'

Crowley shrugged. 'We tried that in Bungay, back in the 1500s. Didn't work. That one ate a couple of people and run off after it trashed the church. Never did catch it again.'

Aziraphale looks less than impressed with that bit of information, and starts walking a bit faster. 

There's a chill in the air when they reach the churchyard, and Crowley's prepared to curse his over active imagination for a moment, before he sees the angel rubbing his hands together and blowing on his fingers. There's a prickly feeling in the air, that comes and then vanishes, heartbeat quick, and he realises Aziraphale's warded the area. 

'It went into the churchyard?'

'Yeah. You can... Oh.'

The Hellhound was standing calmly in the middle of the churchyard, shoulders as high as the gravestones it was surrounded by. Steam was billowing around it, and a trail of smoking paw-prints stretched around the perimeter of the site. It was staring around wildly, showing too many teeth for comfort. 

'I didn't realise they got this big,' Aziraphale muttered. 

'Well, they kind of, I don't know, adapt to what people are expecting them to look like. Maybe you could expect it to look a bit less demonic?'

'Crowley, I've read stories about these things! Some of them having flaming eyes like saucers-'

'Oh, great.'

The hound turns distinctly flaming eyes in their direction. 

'Are you sure you weren't thinking of the Hound of the Baskervilles, Aziraphale?'

'Are you sure you wouldn't like to catch your own Hellhound, Crowley?'

He wouldn't. He's cold and wet and tired already, and to have even a hope of getting it back before anyone notices, he's probably going to have to stop time. He shakes his head slightly, and Aziraphale takes it as the apology it is. 

He nods along as Aziraphale makes him promise not to come in, whatever happens, and settles himself in the lea of the hedge to watch.

The Hound snaps and snarls as Aziraphale walks through the lychgate. 

It throws his head back and howls like a wolf as he walks underneath the old yew tree - Crowley likes yew trees, there's a few almost as old as he is - and he can feel the ripple of dread spreading through the village at his back. Anyone with a hint of spiritual awareness is going to feel that, and mortal ears are quite capable of hearing that howl. 

'Come here!'

There's so much angelic command in that that Crowley finds himself standing up. The rain takes that moment to blow strongly, splattering against his glasses and rendering him effectively blind for a moment. 

'I command you, foul beast! Come here!'

The Hound slinks towards him a few steps. Its eyes aren't quite so blazing. To Crowley's mind, it seems to be wobbling into vaguely calf like shapes every few steps, before clarifying into a dog. 

'That's good! Come here!'

Oh, this is going to be easy. This is why he called Aziraphale, after all; the sanctified ground must have been messing with his powers and that's why he hadn't been able to compel it to obey earlier. Another few minutes and they'll be able to sort the next bit of the disaster out and maybe he'll take Aziraphale out for dinner tonight and...

The angel swears so rarely that it takes Crowley a minute to process what he said. 

He says it again, for emphasis, anyway. 

The Hound is up at the church door, scrabbling against the wood. The claws leave gouge marks through the iron hard oak. It shakes its vast head, and Crowley can feel the fragments of Aziraphale's power being flicked away from it. 

'Well, that went well,' Aziraphale calls over. 

'I can see that. Do you want me to -'

'Absolutely not! Don't you even think of coming in here. I'll try something else.'

The sausages don't work. The Hound looks at them in a way that Crowley felt was almost disapproving and didn't move away from scrabbling at the door. 

Aziraphale mutters something about his sword, which Crowley vetoes on principle. He isn't altogether sure of who might win that fight. 

'Do they get cold?' he calls over after a moment's thinking.

'How should I know?'

'Well, forgive me for thinking you might have researched them before stealing one!'

'I didn't steal it, I borrowed it! Anyway, what good would that do?'

'I thought, if it gets cold, maybe if we left some blankets here...Although if you need it back right away, that might not work.'

Crowley buries his head in his hands and tries to ignore the rain slithering under his shirt collar. He's going to be cold for the rest of the day now. 'No, angel, I don't think they do. Not very cold blooded, dogs.'

He can feel the concentration Aziraphale's putting into this; can see the tension lines forming on the angel's face and abruptly feels guilty for dragging him into this. 'It's alright, angel. I can manage.'

'No. I just need to think of something else, distract him so we can get him out onto the road. I'm sure your powers will work on him then.'

'I didn't want -'

'Now you're just being silly. Let me think a bit, would you?'

He sits quietly. Draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, and blesses himself for ever thinking it was worth skipping the paperwork. 

There's various mutterings; he picks up odd words like 'squeaky toy' and 'walks,' and the hound keeps howling. 

And then Aziraphale's in front of him, smiling. 'Crowley? Are you going to get in much trouble if that Hellhound doesn't go back?'

'Yeah.' He stares down at the grass he's mostly trampled to mud. 'I told you that earlier. My lot don't send rude notes, remember?'

'Ah, but what if...are your side particularly attached to them as individuals? Is anyone going to miss that Hellhound itself?'

He shrugs. 'Don't think they have names as such. People they go to on Earth are meant to name 'em.'

'Good. So, if you take back something in exchange, are things going to be different?'

'What are you thinking of?'

'Heavenhounds. It's easy to get one down here, I can just put a request in and it'll be here. Open the portal in the churchyard, the Hellhound should sense it and ... they can sense consecrated ground, can't they? It should probably go straight through the portal. Close it off, and it'll be Heaven's problem then. And we've got a Heavenhound you can take back with you...I'm sure you can spin a decent story on that.'

He tries not to hope too quickly, too fiercely. 'That...are they valuable to Heaven?'

'Gabriel adores them. They've all got names, and fluffy blankets for bad weather.' Aziraphale shakes his head, scattering rain everywhere. 

'Annoying an archangel would shut them up, I reckon. It's not gonna eat me or something, is it?'

'Oh no. Heavenhounds are very scent orientated. They won't attack anyone that smells like an angel.'

'Uh...Slight problem there, angel.'

'No, it's easy. You borrow my coat, that should be enough. And -'

'Not the bow-tie. I'd rather go back there without one than wearing your ridiculous bow-tie.'

'I was going to say, I'd come with you in the Bentley to keep it under control but you can borrow the bowtie if you like.'

He lapses into silence, weighing his options. It doesn't take long. The sun's getting dangerously close to the horizon.

'Go for it.'

Aziraphale smiles tightly at him. 'Don't come in there, then. Whatever you do, because I do not want to be explaining to anyone up there why they can see you. In fact, you can move away a bit please.'

He turns and walks away. The rain's turned the tarmac into a river that sloshes around the top of his shoes, and he feel the angelic power tingles on the back of his neck. He hadn't realised that this was going to take so much of Aziraphale's power. 

Flash. A ripping noise. Fire. Shadows. Thunder. The sick-sweet smell of flowers that are halfway to rot. 

He closes his eyes although he's facing the other way, and wishes he could close his other senses as well. 

A growl stretches out, long and furious and then it's gone, fading like a siren. There's a neat little noise that he recognises as Aziraphale clapping his hands and then a moment of silence, stillness. 

Aziraphale's there when he opens his eyes. Of course he is. 

A huge cream dog is standing alongside him, looking at Crowley as though it expects he might be edible. Aziraphale's hand is resting very gently on the dog's skull, and he can feel the effort he's putting in to keep it under control. 

'Here, put this on.' Aziraphale takes his jacket off with evident distaste and great care. Crowley settles for throwing it over his shoulders like a cape, a welcome layer of extra warmth against the chill that has already settled into his bones. 

It feels, although he'd never admit it, like a hug.

'All done?' he asks, jus to check. As if Aziraphale's ever let him down on something like this before. 

'All done. It'll probably get chucked back down to Hell in fairly short order, and no-one's going to notice anything while it's rampaging. Let's go.'

They hurry off, Crowley clutching the borrowed jacket around himself, the Heavenhound growling softly at every stride and Aziraphale casting a light just in front of them so they could see through the teeming rain and what was now almost full dark. 

Crowley draws to a halt just outside the village, alongside a hedge and looks over at Aziraphale. Tries to find the words, as he always does, and fails, as he always does. 

'Call me?' There's a low urgency to Aziraphale's tone, one that he hasn't heard for a long time. 'When you get back up here, call me. Let me know.'

He swallows, looking at the Hound and the shadowy patch that is a back door into Hell. 'Course. I'll be fine but I'll...I'll let you know.'

He waits until Aziraphale is gone before forcing a smile onto his face and grabbing the Hound close. He'll think of something. It'll be alright. He always does.

The Heavenhound strides into Hell alongside him.

**Author's Note:**

> The Bungay incident Crowley mentions is a real legend of a ghostly black dog appearing in a church and killing several people before vanishing, leaving scorch marks on the door. https://bungay-suffolk.co.uk/bungay-history-the-black-dog/


End file.
